


Traces

by sciencefictioness



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Head Shaving, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sibling Incest, Trans Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: Hanzo’s sleep isn’t always easy.  His chest is rising and falling faster than it should be, eyes roving wildly behind his lids.  He makes a whining noise low in his throat, and Genji sits up and lays a palm on his cheek.“Hanzo, hey.  Hanzo.” Genji can’t leave him there, languishing in nightmares.  “Anija, wake up.”Hanzo’s lids fly open, eyes unfocused as blinks at Genji.  When the drowsiness fades some, he jerks away from him, inhaling sharply.  There’s raw fear in his gaze like Genji hasn’t seen in years, and never directed at him.  Hanzo lets out a ragged breath, laced with a frantic whimper.“Hanzo?” Genji says, almost wounded.  Hanzo blinks a few more times, then relaxes slowly as the confusion clears.“I’m sorry, I… for a moment, I thought you were...”  He closes his eyes and shakes his head, settling back down next to Genji in bed.  “There’s so much grey in your hair, now. For a moment you looked just like father.”It feels instantaneous, how quickly Hanzo drifts back to sleep.  Minutes, or hours. Genji doesn’t know. He stares at the ceiling trying to breathe through smoke, eyes wide and unblinking.Just like father, he thinks, and climbs out of bed.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Hanzo Shimada
Comments: 6
Kudos: 109





	Traces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Shimadacest week day six, 'silver'

Genji isn’t sure what wakes him. 

The house is quiet enough, and there’s no noise from the street, no honking horns or dogs barking. He rolls over, reaching for warmth in the darkness automatically. He finds cotton sheets, then smooth skin. Solid, slick with sweat.

It’s bright enough to make out the lines of Hanzo’s face. Genji often watches Hanzo sleep— it’s soothing like nothing else. Knowing he’s close, that he’s at ease. Knowing that nothing can touch him without going through Genji first. 

That he can press his lips to Hanzo’s jaw, the corner of his mouth. Trail kisses down his stomach. Bury his face between Hanzo’s thighs and lick into him, slit soft on Genji’s tongue.

Knowing that Hanzo is his, and there is no one who can stop them.

Hanzo’s sleep isn’t always easy, though. Isn’t always dreamless. His chest is rising and falling faster than it should be, eyes roving wildly behind his lids. He makes a whining noise low in his throat, and Genji sits up and lays a palm on his cheek.

“Hanzo, hey. Hanzo.” Genji can’t leave him there, languishing in nightmares. He runs his fingers through Hanzo’s beard, scratching gently with his nails. “Anija, wake up.”

Hanzo’s lids fly open, eyes unfocused as blinks at Genji. When the drowsiness fades some, he jerks away from him, inhaling sharply. There’s raw fear in his gaze like Genji hasn’t seen in years, and never directed at him. Hanzo lets out a ragged breath, laced with a frantic whimper.

“Hanzo?” Genji says, almost wounded. Hanzo blinks a few more times, then relaxes slowly as the confusion clears.

“I’m sorry, I… for a moment, I thought you were...” He closes his eyes and shakes his head, settling back down next to Genji in bed. “There’s so much grey in your hair, now. For a moment you looked just like father.” 

It feels instantaneous, how quickly Hanzo drifts back to sleep. Minutes, or hours. Genji doesn’t know. He stares at the ceiling trying to breathe through smoke, eyes wide and unblinking.

Just like father, he thinks, and climbs out of bed. 

He slips quietly down the hall and into the bathroom, only turning on the light after the door is closed behind him. Genji looks in the mirror and recoils, just like Hanzo had recoiled. There are prominent streaks of grey at his temples, but not only there. All of his hair is shot through with silver, now, still mostly black but unmistakably shifting. It hadn’t happened all at once. Slow enough that Genji barely noticed.

Hanzo had teased him when he got his first grey hair, more for Genji’s reaction than anything else. It isn’t vanity that has him panting, now, clutching the counter with his knuckles gone white. 

Genji is back in his father’s house. In Hanzo’s room, on his knees at Sojiro’s feet. Hanzo is next to him, folded in on himself until his forehead is pressed to the floor. Both of them are naked, lips still swollen with their kissing. Hanzo’s throat is littered with marks from Genji’s mouth.

_ Just like your father,  _ Sojiro says, backhanding Genji hard enough that he collapses on his side. Blood trickles from his nose. Sojiro kicks him in the stomach, and Genji curls up into a ball, breathing through the urge to be sick. Their father buries his fist in Hanzo’s hair, pulls him up higher on his knees.

_ Did you miss me that much, Hanzo?  _ Hanzo closes his eyes, tears slipping silently down his cheeks. There is no right answer. 

There is only more punishment. He throws Hanzo onto the floor, shoves his face into the wood. Kneels behind him and unties his obi. Lets his robe fall off his shoulders. Sojiro’s dragons are red and vivid and alive in his skin.

_ Shhh, it’s alright. I’m here now. _

Genji is in the suburbs in the states, retching into the toilet again and again. There’s the taste of bile, stomach aching as he heaves up nothing, gagging so hard it’s painful.

His hands are shaking as he digs through the cabinets under the sink. Genji finds Hanzo’s clippers easily enough, tugging them out of the cheap satin bag. He flicks them on, relief rushing through him when they buzzes to life in his hands. He looks in the mirror.

It’s Sojiro staring back at him, teeth bared and eyes lit red.

Sojiro’s voice in his ear,  _ if I’m a monster, so are you. _

Sojiro’s blood in his veins. Sojiro’s eyes, Sojiro’s jaw. Sojiro’s voice coming out of Genji’s mouth. 

Sojiro at his feet, Genji’s sword in his guts,  _ you can’t kill me, little sparrow. _

_ Everything I am, you are. _

Just like your father, Genji thinks, and lifts the clippers to his temple. Genji runs them over his head from front to back in messy rows, the blade snagging when he buries it too deeply. His hair has gotten long on him, and it makes things difficult. He’s going too fast, and it’s rough, and uneven. Chunks of hair fall into the sink, littering the counter and the floor. It clings to his skin, itches on his hands. 

There are tears dripping down his face, eyes rimmed in red, his nose running. He’s still breathing hard when most of his hair is gone. Genji clicks off the clippers, sets them down on the counter. It’s buzzed close, but not well; Genji can see lines in it from the clipper blade. Some of it is shorter, some of it longer. There are patches that Genji has missed entirely, mostly at the back. 

When Genji looks in the mirror, Sojiro is still there looking back at him. It’s reflex, like flinching away from a blow or jumping at a loud noise.

Like recoiling from Genji in bed because he looks like a monster.

Genji’s fist flies out and shatters the mirror, shards of it cutting into his knuckles as it rains down on the counter and clatters to the floor. There are still some broken pieces clinging to the wall, reflecting Genji back at himself in stark, unsettling angles. Sharp lines bisecting his face, making it line up wrong. It feels more genuine, this way.

This is who Genji is, broken and horrific and put together wrong. Missing pieces. Sharp enough to cut.

There are footsteps moving fast down the hall, and the door flies open to reveal Hanzo, wide eyed with surprise.

_ “Genji.”  _ It’s a breath, not a word. Hanzo takes in the scene, already reaching for Genji, stepping around the worst of the broken glass. He touches Genji’s face and looks at the mirror, at the clippers on the counter. Genji’s busted knuckles. The mess of his hair. “Genji,” he says again, gentle this time. 

Everything is so much worse with someone else looking at it. Genji puts his face in his hands and lets out a hitching little sob as Hanzo pulls him forward, into his arms. The urge to lash out is there, but Genji has done enough damage, and they don’t hurt each other any more. Not on purpose.

Not if they can help it.

Genji hates that Sojiro can still do this to him, decades in the ground and on the other side of the world. 

Hates that he was right. Genji couldn’t kill him. He is always there, lurking in their bones and waiting to break free all over again. 

He doesn’t know how long Hanzo holds him while he shudders against him; minutes. Hours. 

He only knows Hanzo will keep holding him as long as it takes.

“You did a really shitty job,” Hanzo says eventually.

Genji laughs once and lets Hanzo tug him carefully from the bathroom, taking the clippers with him and leading him into the kitchen. He sets him down in a rickety wooden chair and turns the clippers on again, standing behind Genji and running them over his head to smooth out all the rough edges. Hanzo is good at that, now.

Smoothing Genji’s rough edges.

After a while he moves around to stand in front of Genji, running his fingers through the shorn fuzz that’s left to make sure everything is even. Genji leans forward and shoves his face into Hanzo’s belly, arms coming up around his waist.

“I’m sorry,” Hanzo says, petting over what’s left of Genji’s hair, which is mostly nothing. “I was half-asleep. I wasn’t thinking.”

Genji shakes his head but doesn’t let Hanzo go. It wasn’t his fault. Wasn’t Genji’s fault. Both of them know already, and he’s given Sojiro enough power for one night already. Saying it will only make things worse. 

“I’m sorry,” Genji says instead. “It was stupid.” 

Hanzo hums in what might be agreement, and Genji sniffs, smiling weakly against his stomach.

“Get in the shower and rinse off this hair while I clean up the mirror so we can go back to bed.”

It’s familiar; breaking a hundred different ways then picking up the pieces. Climbing into bed together even though things ache.

Hanzo pulls Genji into him so tight it’s hard to breathe, just how Genji likes it when he’s still shaking inside. They don’t sleep for a long time, but laying in the dark with Hanzo is easier than anything else.

  
The sun rises, and everything is the same.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Tell me nice things!


End file.
